Waltz
by La'Ruelia
Summary: The three most important early events in Esme Cullen's never ending life.
1. First Movement: Adventure

Waltz

Summary: The three most important early events in Esme Cullen's never ending life.

First Movement: Adventure

DC: I don't own Twilight or any of it's characters.

Young Esme Platt laughed, letting the warm evening wind travel through her hair as she pushed herself to run faster. It was never tiring for her to run, or keep up with the boys around the farm. She laughed some more when she turned her head to see the young farm hand slow his steps. "Come on Willie! You've only been running for so little!"

"Oh hold on!" The young boy stopped, setting his hands on his knees. Esme stopped a few steps later, and fell into the long grass, her summer dress falling around her knees. The boy caught up and sat next to her, still heaving from the sprint.

Esme's eyes fluttered open, forest green eyes staring up to the younger man. "Are you alright? I can't let you go home tired."

"I'm fine." Esme smiled when she heard his pride overtake his breathing. "Are you okay? I can't send you home to the master all beat up and hurt."

Esme rolled her eyes. "I'm older than you are. So that makes me stronger."

"You're only sixteen!"

"Twelve full months older," Esme concluded, a smile brushing her lips. She heard Willie's grumble and smiled more victoriously. She watched the setting sun for a moment, before gathering up her folds. "Come on. Race you to the old tree!"

"Why can't you be a lady for once?" Willie got up, making sure to level his breathing. Esme held her dress in both hands counting to four. "You're just so stubborn!" he yelled, sprinting into a run.

Esme laughed and took the lead again. She didn't stop until she reached the shadows of the old tree. She turned around, seeing her home in the distance. Her father would be getting off work now, after the cows had been checked on one last time. Her mother would be finishing dinner and soon the whole farm would be quiet as the evening went on. She looked at the setting sun again, smiling at the scene.

"Not fair!" Willie gasped, sitting on the ground. He leaned back on his hands. "I…I don't know where you get it at…at…all!"

Esme leaned on the tree. "Are you sure you're okay? You're so tired. I won't race you anymore."

"Really Esme. I'm fine." Willie took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

Esme turned to the tree. It was an old, black chestnut tree, its bark withered and stiff. She smoothed out her hand across the edges, finding small footholds and low branches. She grabbed a hold of the branch testing it's strength. She pulled herself up.

"No. Really, not a good idea." Willie still sat on the ground, winded. He looked a little more alert when Esme managed to make it to another branch. "Esme! It's too old, even for your weight!"

"I'm not that heavy!" Esme pouted, testing another branch. She was several feet off the ground. "You can see for miles up here. You should really try it Willie."

Willie relaxed a little, but still shook his head. Esme climbed higher, almost to where she couldn't see him anymore. When she couldn't, she started to hear his yell. "Esme? Esme?"

"I'm here!" She climbed out to the outer edge of the branch. Willie jumped up. "I'm okay. I'm just—"

There was a terrible snap. Esme gasped a little as the branch was broken from under her. She panicked a little, holding her legs straight out as she fell six feet. Her legs connected to the ground, one landing awkwardly and painfully. Her vision, for a moment, turned red, as she gave another gasp. Willie came running over. She looked up, eyes wide. "Go get my father."

Willie didn't underestimate the command in her voice. He started running towards her farm. Esme tenderly touched her leg, a shooting pain then constantly throbbed. She pulled her caramel hair back from her face, as the tears sprung to her eyes. Her chest heaved and her face heat up. The pain was unbearable and she couldn't move her leg. The sun was almost set, and a dark chill ran down her spine. "Willie, hurry," she whispered.

Soon enough she saw her father come running through the meadow, two other farmhands and Willie running close behind.

---

Esme sat quietly on the bed, her leg in a makeshift cast. Her dress was dirty and torn, and she had dirt smeared on her hands and scrapes on her legs. She looked over to her mother who was giving her a slow shake of the head. "You know what I say about running in the fields like that."

"Yes mother." Esme sighed. Her mother patted her hand, and then wrapped hers around Esme's.

"I wonder sometimes if you were meant to be born a boy." Esme wrinkled her face in disgust with that comment, and her mother laughed softly. Soon Esme laughed along, feeling better.

Her father came into the room, eyes stressed with worry. He smiled to his young daughter, sighing. "You're lucky an extra doctor was around. Ours is out of town."

"Sorry dad." Esme gave her best guilty smile. Her father fell for it all the time. "I promise next time to pick a better tree."

"Oh, there probably won't be any tree climbing for you," a smooth voice said. A young blond doctor came into the room, not making a sound. "Not for a few months anyway."

Esme smiled, though her heart pounded inside. He was a beautiful thing, pale, golden and young. He came in and held out a hand. She grabbed it shyly, and jumped from the touch. He was very cold. He smiled charmingly. "Hospitals do a thing for the temperature. It gets dreadfully cold when you're rushing about." He took a step back a little, smiling a white, perfect smile. "My name is Doctor Carlisle Cullen."

"Oh…well…um, thank you for seeing her." Her mother seemed to be having trouble from not smiling. The doctor nodded, and then turned to Esme's father. Her father shook the doctor's hand, too, before the both of them bent over to look at Esme's leg.

"A clean break." Dr. Cullen carefully touched her cast. Esme sucked in a breath, not so much about the pain, but the shooting cold that crept up her leg to her back. "That's a good thing. It'll heal a lot better that way."

He wrote some things down on some papers he had with him before leaving the room. It was silent, Esme hoping he'd come back soon enough to fill it with his charm again. He came back sooner than she thought, though she didn't mind, with a few items to make a real cast. He wrapped her leg up, doing so smoothly and without hardly any pain that Esme thought such a young doctor shouldn't be able to do just yet. "You're fast." Esme said with a laugh. She pulled her dress over her knees.

"I've had a lot of practice." Dr. Cullen smiled at her, melting her heart into harder beats. "Though, usually, it's the boys that come in with the broken arms and legs."

"That's Esme for you," her father chimed in. "More athletic than her looks give out."

"Well you're finished. If Mr. Platt could follow me to sign more papers, and I'll have a nurse come in and give you a pair of crutches." He held a hand out his hand. Esme held it stronger this time, though all it did was numb her hand. "I hope to not see you in the few remaining weeks I'm here, little lady."

I do, Esme thought in her head. She nodded, smiling. "I hope not either Mr. Cullen. Thank you."

"No problem." It was as if almost whispered it to her, the words came out that winded. She shivered a little, but just giggled politely.

Carlisle Cullen left the room with her father, as her mother gathered their things. She watched them leave; hoping the memory of the night would never leave her existence.

---

Hello, Lala Rue here! It's been awhile since I uploaded anything.

This is something I want to get done before my Christmas break is over. I hope it works!

Please review!

Love, Lala Rue!

(Edit: I wonder if anyone noticed I had two different eye colors for Esme. Haha. I fixed it. They should be all green now.)


	2. Second Movement: Death

Second Movement: Death

DC: I don't own Twilight

Esme pulled her hair back over her shoulders, carefully leaning down over her papers. These papers were very badly written, but she had to laugh to herself as one of her students commented on how big she was getting. It was hard times, but teaching her seven-year-old grade school students brought in what little money could be brought in. She marked the paper, and then set her pen down. Her bulging belly twitched as the baby kicked.

It had been a long eight months. Esme hated thinking about her estranged husband; but when her mind wasn't occupied it floated to the fact that her unborn child might have had to live with such an abusive soul. She still felt the hits and bruises and the frightful nights in that place. The thought alone almost made her sick until she remembered that those events were the only reason she was going to have a family. She finally had something to look forward to and someone to love. Her hands rest gently on her stomach, her lips forming into their own smile. The baby would be here soon enough and she could be even happier.

She carefully moved herself from the desk and went into the kitchen. It was a very little kitchen, having only one chair and a very small table. She didn't mind it all that much, since she didn't have too many guests. It was a very quiet house. Her neighbors left her be, thinking that she was still in mourning over the death of her husband in the war. She smiled at the lie, allowing the peace to fall for her and her baby.

She reached into her icebox, pulling out the last of her milk, and set herself down at the table. She folded her dress around her and quietly drank her cup.

Just as she finished and was going to set the empty milk bottle on her outside steps, there was a knock on her front door. She put on her best indifferent look, and answered the door. There stood a lady, but not just any lady. She was Esme's only really good friend in Ashland, having helped Esme get a job and help her on her feet the first few months she was here. "Oh look at you dear!" the woman said cheerfully patting her rounded belly. "That baby ready to come yet?"

Esme just smiled weakly, shaking her head slowly. She stepped aside letting the older lady come through the door. "Oh getting all set up for the baby to come?" She said, spotting Esme's cradle in the corner of the room. "Well, I've got just the thing for this cradle. I've got some old blankets that'll be perfect for it."

"Really, Mrs. Evans, I don't need much—"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Evans turned to Esme. "I haven't had little children in my own house for years. There is no need for me to keep all these baby things when you, my dear, need them more."

Esme felt the little guilt flutter in her chest, but solemnly nodded her head. The baby kicked again, a little harder. She rested a hand on the top and followed Mrs. Evans to couch in her living room. "All your little grade school children," she mused to herself. "They're not giving you a hard time are they, Esme?" she asked turning to the younger woman.

"No," Esme replied, feeling another kick. "They're fine, just fine."

Mrs. Evans went on talking about life outside of Esme's home, while Esme felt kick after kick. Esme tried crossing her ankles, kicking them every few moments and breathed deeply but the kicks didn't cease. Finally she stood up, a little wobbly on her feet.

"Esme are you okay?" Mrs. Evans was up with her, concern creased in the wrinkles on her face. "You look a little shaky."

"I'm okay. Just going to freshen up."

Esme remembered taking a step forward, almost falling on her face. The desk she graded her papers on saved her fall. She heard Mrs. Evans gasp and say a few words, but Esme didn't comprehend any of it. She saw the older lady leave, but concentrated on the pains that came in waves. "The baby is just coming in earlier. Get a hold on yourself dear." A tear slipped from her eyes as another gasped clenched at her throat.

Her vision blurred with on coming tears as Mrs. Evans came through the front door, hand over her chest, a doctor behind her. Esme held onto the corner of the desk harder, breathing heavier. It was time. She smiled at the fact that her family was coming even sooner than she thought.

----

Something was wrong. The baby was very still in his bed, moving only slightly with every shaky breath. Esme let her caramel tangled hair fall around her face, as she bent down to give her son a light kiss on the forehead. His light green, tired eyes fell on her, and Esme could help but to let out a sob.

_He's not going to die_. The words formed into her head, chanting into her conscious. _He's tough, like me. I won't let him go._

The doctors noticed, a few hours after the birth of her son, that he had trouble breathing. They said it could go away, but there was a chance the infection won't leave his lungs and he could pass on.

They tried to say it as lightly as they could, but when she heard the news her heart dropped and a huge weight leaned onto her shoulders. The first night she cried. She couldn't stop. The tears rolled out of her eyes and her throat closed from the hard sobs. She woke up that next morning and was determined to keep her spirit up for her baby.

She looked down at her son in the crib. The hospital was trying its best to do anything they could. A little IV was stuck in his little arm, liquid dripping slowly.

"Mrs. Platt." Esme wasn't accustomed to the use her old surname, and jumped a little at the sound of it. She wiped at her eyes before turning to the voice. "Please, this way. You'll have to rest."

"No. I need to watch him. He's going to live." Esme's knuckles were white from the grip she had on the small cradle. "Please…"

"I'm sorry. You need to leave. He's very sick and we need more testing. A good rest will do you some good, and then you can come back."

Esme let her grip go with a sudden tremble. She let go with the thought that she would be around the corner, waiting. The doctor took her by the shoulder and guided her out of the intensive care and back to her room. She found her bed, curling up in the rough sheets and itchy cover. Her mind wandered to her baby in the room down the hall. He was going to make it, she said to herself. Her eye lids drooped. Soon she was drifting into a restless sleep.

----

There was a lot of talk. Esme felt her eye lids flutter open. It was dark inside of the hospital room. The corners of the room looked very uninviting, the dark shadows reaching across, as if they were reaching to get her. She rubbed her eyes, finding the lamp that sat next to her. The light flickered on, though the shadows just grew.

A doctor found his way into the room. Esme frowned, setting her bare feet on the cold floor. The doctor gave her a forlorn smile.

"No." Esme whispered.

"Mrs. Platt, please understand we did our best, but…"

"I want my baby." Esme got on her feet. "Where is he? I want him now!"

"Understand that…"

Esme shook her head, the dark curls whipping her face. She wasn't going to let him finish. Her deep green eyes pierced his. He swallowed, Esme finding him to look uneasy. _Good_, she thought viciously. _Maybe he'll stop lying to me_.

The doctor laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to push her down. Esme shrugged off the hand, pushing past him and leaving the room. "Mrs. Platt!"

Esme felt her feet move faster with every moment. Soon she was skidding to a halt outside the window of the intensive care unit. The cradle was empty. She searched the room, her eyes not stopping and looking at every detail. "Where is my baby?" she choked out.

"Mrs. Platt." The doctor was back. She turned to him, her eyes full of anger.

"You took him away? Is he better? Tell me!"

The doctor held up hands. "I'm sorry! He's gone. We weren't…we weren't able to save—"

Esme hit the window with her hand, waking several other babies on the other side. A few cried out. Her mouth opened but she couldn't get the words out. Instead, she kept hitting the window until several nurses came and grabbed her hands. They were trying to tell her that she was waking all of the patients up, but she didn't care. She wanted her son; her little boy.

"Why are you taking him away?" she sobbed. She twitched her arms, but they wouldn't let her go. She sank into the floor, letting her legs drop her weight and the nurses call for more help. "You want me to be miserable? I've lost everything…please don't take him away!" Esme looked into the faces around her, desperate for answers, good answers; that they were just kidding; but the doctors just took her back to her room. She lay back down staring at the wall until the light started to drift through the window, chasing the shadows back into their corners.

Her heart broke right then. Just only two days after her baby was born, his life was gone. She wrapped her arms around her and tucked her head into the pillow. Tears streamed silently out of her eyes as she wailed into the rough support. She shook and trembled and hiccuped. She wouldn't stop, not even when the doctors brought her in breakfast. She wouldn't look up. She didn't touch her food. The misery washed through her, sucking up the rest of her energy.

Her last point in her will to live left her as the sun rose over the sky. She felt lifeless as the doctors signed her release the next day, and she walked out of the hospital a broken woman.

She walked from the little hospital in Ashland, to the cliff that sat gloomily over the town.

---

Hello, Lala Rue here. Kind of a sad chapter. But it's the truth.

This chapter bothered me so I had to rewrite it. I like it better now, though it is still sad. For some reason I've been having doubts about my writing, feeling like I'm not good enough. But I just realized that I'm just out of practice with college and all. I'll feel better eventually.

I'll update the last chapter when I write it! (Looks like I lied about getting this done before school. I have a week left.)

Love, Lala Rue!

(P.S. Want to know a random peice of information? I go to a the college Ashland University...just a little bit of my life and how it's the same name as the Ashland Esme lived in. Smile!)


	3. Third Movement: Rebirth

Third Movement: Rebirth

DC: I don't own Twilight

Esme felt the heat.

The fall was interesting, and the seemingly long distance felt short and almost two quick for the pain she felt of the death of her newborn. She saw the crashing waves; she saw the small bit of land before the lake; she heard the inviting wind that sang in her ears. Her arms spread out. Maybe she would just fly up into the sky without the pain of her body breaking while crashing into the hard earth. Just another kiss of death, she remembered thinking to herself as the ground came up to meet her.

Esme felt the heat.

Maybe when she crashed with her kiss of death she just kept going on into the fiery pit. Was this why her arm twitched and her neck burned like fires were licking her skin? She concentrated on the burning. Her arm and neck were the worst. It felt like poison was spreading out through her veins, attacking everything in its sight. She felt sick to her stomach, as if she could just roll over and cry. The _poison_ seeped through her making her legs quake and her toes curl in agony. The _poison_ reached into her hip, digging in like needles stuck an inch through. She gasped and let the pain roll over her. Was this what she deserved when the hospital was the one who drove her into the fire?

She felt her heart quicken.

Was this right? Shouldn't her heart have stopped in the plunging mess? She weakly placed the hand that hadn't felt the toxin on top of her chest. It was still there, the beat. Her brow furrowed, bringing pain to her neck; restarting the path down to her legs and hips. She was confused. Death meant _not living_. Her heart should have stopped. Maybe she shouldn't be able to move her hands or curl her toes in agony either?

Pain hit her double in the hand that lay over her heart. She took another deep breath in. She wouldn't be able to breathe in death. She didn't dare open her eyes, though more gasps and burning moans left her mouth. She let her back arch, and her arms crash down. Maybe she should invite it. Perhaps she lived through the fall, and this was drowning, though she clearly remembered hitting the sand and dirt ground rather than the cold lake. Maybe some poor living soul saw her fall, and pushed her in water to make things easier. Maybe she'll thank that person as a spirit that haunts the cliffs of Ashland.

She let the pain consume her thoughts. It scratched her face till she thought it was bleeding. As she moved from the pain, the _poison_ caught in her neck again and again, sending it through her veins. She cried out, louder and louder as the pain hit her more.

It was sudden cold on both sides of her hot skin. She twisted towards it, thirsting for its touch. It did finally touch her after what seemed like years of agonizing waiting. Her forehead first, then, gently, her arms. She was almost pinned, but didn't mind. It didn't hurt as much when the cold hit her skin. She settled a little in her ache.

_Was I like this? So…trembled?_

The voice was cool, smooth. Her back arched again, the pain hitting her ears not letting her hear the response, and she was gently pushed back down. She let out another gasp. The cold wasn't helping the searing burn. She writhed in torture as the _poison_ seemed to push against her. She let out a wail and held her eyes tighter.

_Why does the venom burn?_

Esme didn't hear any answer. It seemed as if the one person was just talking to himself or the other was whispering, maybe just nodding or shaking its head. She didn't care for too long, though. Instead, she started chanting to herself to just die. She couldn't take it. The pain seeped through her skin, suffocating her. The people around her must have done it, she resolved. She must have been alive, still, when she fell. They took her and are experimenting on her. They were killing her.

She didn't care. As long as she was dying, it settled well in her mind. Esme let out another gasp as the burn succeeded to make more searing agony in her arm and neck. Her heart pumped in and out.

_It's been two days. Is it over?_

Two days, Esme managed to scream in her silent head. Her brain pounded against her skull, racking more pain. How long was the venom taking to kill her? She screamed. The worst of the pain seemed to be meeting. The venom, as the mystery people called it, came from both of the wounds from the left and the right, crashing, burning her insides. It gripped her heart in its hot hands and squeezed hard. Cold bands gripped her wrists and caught her ankles. Perhaps they were getting rid of her body at last? Letting her die in the dark alone and unwanted.

The cold grasps lasted until the final shudder came from her chest. Esme was still thinking; still breathing hard. She tried to figure out what exactly felt wrong. She didn't dare move as her breathing stilled. She willed herself not to breathe. She let all the air out of her lungs and waited.

No pain. The last of the burning seemed to die away. Nothing felt wrong. In fact everything felt right. Everything felt normal. More than normal.

Why didn't her lungs burn with the desire for oxygen?

She let herself take in a breath. She smelled two distinct things, one more sweet than the other.

_Is it over? _the voice repeated. _She's stopped screaming and thrashing._

How long had it been over? Esme rolled her eyes in her head, wondering what was wrong. Something in her wasn't right. She couldn't remember her past needs; as if her whole past life was in black and white and, even though her eyelids were closed, the present was colorful, more beautiful than ever.

"I think it's over. Edward, give her some room."

That voice, however more musical and lovely than it was before. Esme knew it and must not have been able to hear it earlier. She didn't want to open her eyes. Was it all just a dream?

"She's refusing to open her eyes." There came a soft chuckle from her left, though it was more like a song. "She thinks it's just a dream."

Esme almost gasped. He knew what she thought! She would have known it was rude, if she wasn't so intrigued by the realization. Perhaps she should take a look. But what was wrong, what was different?

"She's confused. She can't figure out what is different about her."

"She should know nothing at all is wrong—"

Esme opened her mouth to say something about the privacy of her mind, but realized she had no air to make her vocal cords work. That's when she found out was wrong; what felt different in her; what she didn't hear.

"My heart," Esme whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open, slamming colors into her vision. Her eyes searched down in front of her, trying to take it all in. She was in a small room. It was dark, though the sun that almost hid behind the clouds peeked in through the thick window curtains. She could see every little particle that floated in the air and every little crack in the perfect white wall in front of her. The footfalls of people outside on the streets rang inside the room as if they were right in front of her. The smell of fresh rain and something sweet hung over her. Esme lifted her eyes up and locked into the golden ones looking down.

He was just as beautiful—no, even more so—than what she remembered. His golden hair was kept neat and orderly. Every arc and point in his smooth face registered into her mind as the man she had met, and never forgot about. Her eyes were already tracing and memorizing the smooth curve of his lips. He smiled at her. Esme memorized that too.

"Doctor Carlisle Cullen." She almost forgot to breathe, making herself gasp at the end. He smiled more showing his teeth. The white, straight, perfect smile made Esme mesmerized. There was a sudden relief that filled her, and she was afraid to know why. He laid a soft hand on her face. She moved her hand, though too quickly. She made a noise when she noticed she was moving really fast. She hurdled herself out of the makeshift bed she was laying on, and wrapped her arms around her.

Esme's eyes never left Carlisle as she did this. The young man, who stood across from her, cocked his head a little; his damp red-brown hair moving silkily with his movements. He must have just come from outside. Esme noticed the leftover smell of rain that came retreating from the window. She almost hated the way she noticed things, and concentrated harder on her thoughts.

It looked as though the young man was going to say something, but Carlisle put a hand on his shoulder. Carlisle stepped closer to her, a little slowly. "Don't worry."

"I won't worry." Esme didn't let her arms fall though. She was still trying to figure out was really going on.

"Will you let me explain?"

Esme searched his face. He looked very sincere. He didn't look like he was going to hurt her. He held out his hand. Esme didn't hesitate to let her hand fold into his. She laughed to herself. A perfect fit. The young man looked at them both. Esme felt she would have blushed, though she knew somehow she couldn't anymore, because it looked as though he was probing their minds. He finally shrugged, saying to them, "I'll leave you two alone. It's nice to meet you, Esme."

He left, almost running, it seemed out the door. Esme looked back to the man in front of her, puzzled. "How did he know my name?"

"His name is Edward," he explained, ignoring her question. "He's been my companion…like a son to me for many years." He looked into her eyes. She stared back at his golden ones, seeing herself reflected in them. She started to get nervous again, as she looked different than the time before. He lifted his arms, gently pushing her into a chair. She resisted for a second, noticing the weight and strength in her and his struggle at the resistance. She shouldn't be stronger than this man? She obliged eventually, giving in to his look. "You are a lot stronger than me because you are a newborn," he said, kneeling down to her eye level.

Esme hoped he couldn't read minds, too, but was very curious at the way he left his sentence hanging."A newborn what?"

The few seconds that passed seemed to Esme like hours. She waited, watching his internal conflict at the truth of what he was going to say. He cleared his throat. Esme wondered if that was necessary in his life. "A newborn vampire."

Esme considered the words. Every myth she knew about vampires swarmed her head. She considered what the diet consisted of. She wondered about every possible thing she may not be able to see anymore, including the sun, and possibility of not being able to sleep. She thought about her existence, and wondered if vampires ever died, or even if she was dead already since she had no heartbeat. She was saddened by the thought that she might not be able to die, or even grow or age anymore, seeing no chance to ever see her family in this state. She couldn't, say in twenty years, pop in to see a close friend or relative not having aged since she was twenty-six. The sudden sickening thought of eventually seeing someone she loved and not being able to hold back her desire for her new, crimson diet.

Esme might have been afraid. She might have been angry about her past human life being taken away, even though she almost took it away herself. She might have even been angry at the seemingly perfect man in front of her.

All of these thoughts, these musings, happened in less than a second. Time was moving slower than she remembered.

Esme watched Carlisle's face as he watched hers. His eyes were locked on her and she couldn't get her eyes away. That's when she suddenly knew it was going to be all alright. Every negative emotion was replaced with relief. All of it seemed insignificant with this man—this vampire, in front of her. Her shoulders relaxed, her whole body seemed to sigh into a relaxed position. She lifted a hand and carefully, remembering what he said about her being stronger than him, touched her palm to his cheek. He leaned in a little to her hand, his eyes closing. "I'm not scared," she whispered.

"Maybe…maybe you should be."

She let his eyes open on their own before taking his face and pinning them softly in her hands. "I'm not scared," she repeated. "As long as I'm with you."

That seemed to strike the right cord in Carlisle. He smiled again, and Esme felt herself lean into him. She curled her arms around him and sighed deeply. If this was what eternity brought, than she wouldn't mind the few centuries of new life—as long as they were spent with this man she hardly knew. She sighed into him again.

Esme's rebirth came along with love and a renewed will to love her life no matter what it decided to throw at her.

_**The End**_

---

Hello, Lala Rue here. This was going to be the shortest chapter for me to write, but it came out quite long. I like it.

I really hope you readers liked it. This doesn't seem to be the most popular story, and who knows maybe the plot's over used or something, but I still like my version of it. I like the idea that Esme hardly knows what she's really gotten into, but accepts it anyway because of her strange pull to Carlisle.

Just my thoughts.

I will hope to write a different story soon, though I don't think it'll be Twilight...I don't think I write it well enough.

Love to all and good-bye!

Love, La'Ruelia


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